carousel
by CherryFlavoredChalk
Summary: In which Hagrid becomes a father figure and everyone floats in the Sea of Wrong.


**a/n: **unacceptable and stupid. i mean, basically.

* * *

_carousel_

You puked on Malfoy's shoes when you were twelve. It was bound to happen sometime; that god-awful burping-up-snails curse had backfired in a way that seemed almost nightmarish; every time you took a step you deposited nearly half your weight in mollusks on Hogwart's lawn. Hermione, albeit being the best witch in your year, hadn't the faintest inkling of how to solve it at all, and Harry was alternately laughing at your misery and horrified by the sight of you upchucking near his only pair of mostly-alright-looking tennis shoes.

"Yeh'll be a'right." Hagrid sniffed when the three of you trooped down to his hut to complain about the increase of snails. "Shouldn'ta been fightin', though. Yeh know better, Ron."

You scowled. "I _know_ that. But he called Hermione a-"

"_Even_ if Malfoy's in the wrong," Hagrid continued blithely, prodding at the enormous tea kettle. It whistled at his touch, and let out a thick curl of smoke from its mouth. The groundskeeper frowned at the kettle, soldiering on with, "_especially_ if he's in the wrong. But yeh don't want to be wrong, do yeh, Ron? With Malfoy. In the wrong. Treading wrongess with Malfoy, who is, you know, a bad sort who don't know the difference and wrong an' right."

Even Harry looked a little bewildered, and out of the three of them, he was the closest to Hagrid, and therefore should've at least had the barest notion of what their friend was trying to get at. "Er, Hagrid, I don't know we quite understand what you're getting at."

Hagrid sat down again, steadily ignoring the kettle as it hissed and wheezed behind him. "Well, it's a lot like floatin' in a Sea of Wrong, right? Yeh floatin' in the sea, and yeh used to just be in the Island of Maybe-Not-A-Good-Idea. Now, Malfoy's been in the sea of Wrong, floatin' and havin' a good time-what's wrong with yeh, Hermione?"

Hermione was bent halfway under the table, giggling madly and trying to pass it off as a bad cough. She flapped a hand at Hagrid, who, when he realized Hermione wasn't apt to die immediately, launched back into his lecture.

"Yeh floatin' in the sea with Malfoy, yeh are, Ron," Hagrid said, his massive eyebrows furrowed. "D'you really wanna be there? In the Sea of Wrong, eating yeh wrong-fruit with Malfoy?"

"No?"

Hagrid smiled, all crinkling beetle eyes. "Yeh alright, Ron. Stay in the Sea of Right, and you'll never go Wrong. Unless, of course, yeh run into Malfoy and then I reckon yeh'll just fly on by the the isle of Wrong and kip there for a coupl'a days."

On the way back to the castle, Harry said pleasantly, "That was probably a load of rubbish, Ron. Think he's just trying to tell you to keep your nose clean, that's all."

"I don't get into that much trouble." you whined, trudging up the hill. "Hagrid's not my dad, I don't need a talk from him!" You felt queasy now, and could feel the fizzy sort of bubbling that came with the moment before the vomiting.

Hermione looked affronted. "Yes, you do, Ronald. You're always up to something with Malfoy, you ought to stop before you really get into trouble one day. Even Harry doesn't start as much with him!"

"Stuff it," you sneered. "You don't know what it's like, do you? Making jabs at you the whole day, asking if your mum can even stand anymore what with the load she's got on her-"

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

In dragonhide shoes, no less.

Tacky little git.

"What's that, Weasel? You've been crying for my attention, have you? Miss it when I ask after your lard-arsed mummy?" Malfoy swaggered into view, looking alternately feminine and horrifying. You contemplated the strong sense of happiness you would get if you shoved your wand up his nose and almost immediately reminded yourself of wrong-fruit and seas.

You pulled a face at him instead. It was very dissatisfying. "Get stuffed, Malfoy."

"No, I do think your mother's got that covered, Weasley. Do you cry at night when she comes to hug you because she sqeezes you too hard? Do you bleed a little, Weasel? Do you-"

You never found out what you did or didn't do, because the fizzy bubbling in your stomach built up until you hunched over, splattering the largest pile of green snails yet over Malfoy's five-hundred Galleon dragonhide shoes.

"Do I want to puke when I see your face? Yes, yes I do." you said cheerfully. Malfoy looked astonished and your face twisted, your stomach muscles clenching quickly at your will, and-

"Oh, _gross_, Ron!" Hermione shrieked.

You shrugged and made to move past Malfoy, who was starting to blubber with his ruined shoes that stunk to high heaven, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to the Sea of wrong, you twat."


End file.
